Romantic Evening
by Klei
Summary: "Only you would find a dinner at Friendly's romantic."  In which Russia and America go on a date.  To a fast-food restaurant.  Needless to say, Russia is distressed.  RussAme fluff, T for some language.


**Romantic Evening**

_"Only you would find a dinner at Friendly's romantic." In which Russia and America go on a date. To a fast-food restaurant. Needless to say, Russia is distressed. RussAme, T for some language.

* * *

_

**A/N**

**Klei: Fact; the point of the whole 'greasy American fast food' thing is actually an elaborate plan to take over the world. See, we've built up this tolerance to all things greasy over multiple generations so that when we flood the world with our cooking, only we shall survive! Bwahahahahahaha! (Well, Matthew doesn't like to admit it, but Canada'll probably come out of it alright, too… As well as Iggy, 'cause he doesn't have taste to begin with. X3)**

**England: Take over the world with grease? That's got to be the most ridiculous thing I've ever-**

**America: Shush! No one is supposed to know of our plan! :O**

**England: …You've got to be kidding me.**

**Klei: Quick, friends! This is your chance to vaccinate yourself with grease before such a time comes! :3**

**England: How much are the fast food restaurants paying you to spout this nonsense?**

**Klei: …Five cents a word. X3**

**America: You mean we AREN'T using grease-based weaponry?**

**England: -.-'**

**Klei: Don't look at me like that; you raised him, dude.

* * *

**

"Hey, Ivan."

Russia sighed, but attempted to continue reading his book in the hope that maybe, just maybe it would go away.

"Vanya."

All he had to do was ignore it. Ignore it and read the novel England had given him.

"Vaaaanyaaaaa."

Just… Just had to focus on the story. Concentrate on the witches and wizards. Blot out the _voice._

"Come on, Vanya!"

No. He couldn't. Couldn't gaze into the pleading blue eyes Russia knew he would be greeted with the moment he looked up.

"I know you're not reading it. You've been staring at the same page for the past ten minutes."

Ivan snapped the copy of _Harry Potter _shut. "English is not my first language; were this translated to Russian, it would not take me nearly as long to finish." He knew in advance that the excuse wouldn't fly.

As he had predicted, America simply snorted. "Dude, you're totally fluent enough to read it just as fast as I can… If not faster," Alfred huffed. "Don't try to pretend otherwise. Now come on, you _promised _me we'd go on a date today!"

Russia frowned. "Nyet, I said we would go on a date. Not that it would be today."

"Jesus Christ, man, what is it you have against going out with me?" Alfred asked, plopping himself down on the couch beside the taller man. "I thought we were a couple now!"

Ivan shook his head. It wasn't Alfred he had a problem with. If that were the case, he wouldn't have taken the extraordinarily long flight to get to the states. "We will draw far too much attention to ourselves," he tried to excuse himself.

"Maybe if you took off the scarf, we wouldn't have that problem. Come on, we're in Florida, for crying out loud! Nobody wears a scarf during a Floridian summer!" America complained, tugging at the other country's coat. "How do you _breathe _in that thing? By all rights you should have spontaneously combusted!" He yanked the book out of Russia's hands. "Aww, man. This is one of Iggy's books! I thought you said you were going to try some of mine!"

"I did," Ivan replied, smirking. "When I questioned some librarians about popular American books, they gave me _Twilight."_

Alfred's face flushed red. "Well…" he defended himself, looking away. "It's… It's not that bad."

"You have an entire closet full of _Twilight _merchandise, Alfred."

Silence greeted the point.

"I… Uh… It's just a few trinkets. 'cause she's American. I mean… I just have to be up to date, you know? In the loop?"

"An entire _closet, _Alfred. Not to mention the Team Edward t-shirt."

America opened his mouth, then shut it again. Finally, he just let out a defeated sigh and asked, "How long have you known?"

"Yesterday, when I arrived, is when I found it."

"Fuck you, man."

Ivan re-opened the book. Several more minutes of silence passed before the inevitable started.

"Hey, Ivaaaaan!"

"Nyet."

"_We snuck into Friendly's late last night," _Alfred began singing.

Russia's eyes widened. "You... You would not…"

"_I wanna go to Friendly's!" _the blonde continued, grinning evilly. _"Went to make the menu right! I wanna go to Friendly's!"_

"Alfred!" Ivan warned.

_"Mini mozzarellas, and Dippin' Chicken, too! Cheeseburger sliders, and soda that is blue!"_

"America!"

Alfred wasn't deterred in the least. _"Sundaes we designed were invented for you! Where icecream makes the meal!"_

"I _mean_ it, Jones!"

"_I wanna go to Friendly's, yeah yeah!" _America finished, smirking.

"OKAY! We will go out to one of your silly restaurants!" Ivan snapped desperately. "Just shut up!"

The blonde burst into laughter. "Oh God, had I known all it took to make you crack was my beautiful commercialization, the Cold War would have ended that much faster!"

Russia sighed. "If I had to choose between being nuked and listening to your ridiculous chain restaurant jingles…"

"Aww, you know you don't mean that."

"Sometimes," he replied, patting Alfred on the head. "I give serious thought to the matter."

America took the taller man's hand. "You know you love it. If you didn't, you wouldn't be here."

"I love you, my sunflower. Your obsession with corporations and their merchandise, not so much."

The shorter shrugged. "Anyway, we're totally going out to Friendly's. You've never been there before, have you?"

"Nyet," Ivan replied, shaking his head and standing up. "I have not gone to any of your fast-food chains, and I do not intend to start now. You have so many normal restaurants! Let us go to one of those, instead!"

"But I wanna go to Friendly's! Don't make me start singing again."

Russia bit his lip. "Very well."

"Yes!" America cheered. "We haven't gone on a date in forever! It'll be nice to do something romantic for a change."

"Alfred," Ivan began, eye twitching. "Sitting in the park among the sunflowers with your lover is romantic. Watching a movie with that same lover is romantic. Going to a _real _restaurant together would be romantic. Only _you, _dorogoy… Only you would find dinner at Friendly's romantic."

* * *

Russia sighed as America gave his name to a woman waiting in the front, receiving a small device in exchange that would light up when a table was available. Why so many people would all want to go to such a place was beyond him.

How had he let Alfred convince him, again? Right. That stupid song. How it had sapped away all his willpower with the sheer magnitude of its annoyance. He would have to make it a point to find the creator of the commercial and curse them. Sweet, sweet vengeance.

The stares his coat and scarf attracted from individuals adorning t-shirts of assorted colors became the least of his worries as he waited with Alfred. What would he do when the time came to eat? He could just _not _eat, of course, but… He really did care for his dorogoy, and didn't want to get into a breakup over a dinner date. No, he would have to choke down whatever he ended up getting.

"Something wrong, Vanya?" America asked, and only then did Russia realize the smaller nation was poking his arm repeatedly.

"N-nyet, nothing's wrong," Ivan replied, shaking his head. "I… Nothing."

Little ads for various items on the menu hung about the restaurant. One of the most prominent was one for a burger. Uhg… Enormous, greasy, disgusting things…

Shaking his head, he forced himself to swallow the bile rising in his throat. He was Ivan Braginski, embodiment of the Russian Federation! He had survived cold Siberian winters, a multitude of battles and bloodbaths, the fall of the Soviet Union… A burger was nothing compared to all that!

The device they'd been given lit up and vibrated. "Alfred Jones?" the woman up front called.

Oh, who was he kidding? He was going to die that night. Death by hamburger.

"Hey, hey," Alfred chimed before they were taken to the table. "Can I get one of those coloring sheets and some crayons, please?"

The woman complied, though she gave him a questioning look along with them. Ivan couldn't help but shake his head. Even America's own people recognized his astounding immaturity.

A pair of menus were handed to them before the woman left, giving them a chance to decide on something. Ivan gulped as he looked through it. There had to be something at least partially edible…

The only thing that served to make him feel any better was the smile America gave him. "It's been forever since we've gone out!" the blonde said, not exactly in a loud manner, but at a volume high enough so that those listening in wouldn't have any trouble deciphering his words. "Been too busy to go to your place. Lately I've felt more like a secretary than anything else, filing paperwork and all that crap. I half-expect my boss to ask me for a coffee some days." Alfred sighed. "What about you? How's it been back in Russia?"

Snapping out of the throes of self-pity, Russia gave some thought to the question. It distracted him from his impending doom. "It has been alright, I suppose, though a recent computer glitch has forced me to re-do much of my paperwork."

"Aww, sucks to be you," America mused, looking over the menu. "Hey, Ivan… Do you think I'm fat?"

Ivan blinked, the question seeming a bit random. "Chto? What does that have to do with anything?"

"Nothin'," Alfred mumbled, staring at the drinks section. "It's just… I… I kinda want a chocolate Fribble, but I don't want to get any heavier, you know?"

Russia couldn't help but laugh a little. "What happened to that unbreakable self-esteem of yours?"

America flushed red. "Shut up! I just… Well… Iggy keeps teasing me about being a 'diabetic fat person from a diabetic fat country,' and… And I checked the scale, and I weigh more than average…"

Shaking his head, Ivan reached over and twirled Nantucket around his finger. "You are fine, podsolnechnik." How exactly his smaller companion managed to remain as muscular as he was on such a diet, however, was still a mystery. An incredibly high metabolism, perhaps?

"H-hey, don't do that," Alfred said, flushing and pushing Russia's hand away. "You really don't think I'm fat? Or are you just trying to make me feel better?"

"Are you truly worried, or are you just fishing for compliments?" Ivan countered, looking over the menu. No vodka, predictably enough. Very well. Water… Water and… There had to be something edible…

Wait…

Was that…?

Was that a _salad?_

Silently, he thanked whatever deity was clearly watching over him that day for the vegetarian section of the menu… Followed with some questions as to where it had been all the _other _times he had needed its help and guidance.

"Excuse me, are you ready to order?" the waitress asked upon returning.

"Vanya, did you pick something?" America asked, turning to look at the platinum-blonde nation across the table.

"Da." The waitress gave him a confused look. "That is, I mean… Yes."

After she left with their choices written down, Russia breathed a sigh of relief. America hadn't voiced any objections, so it seemed he was in the clear. Speaking of which, what was his lover looking at? Another menu?

He decided to voice the question. "What are you looking at, dorogoy?"

"Ice cream," was the immediate response.

Russia snatched the menu out of his hands. "Dinner first. You can pick a dessert _later."_

Alfred huffed. "Jerk. Fine, then. Wanna play tic tac toe while we wait?" He opened the box of crayons and placed the sheet in the middle of the table, drawing a blue board in the corner. "You get the red crayon."

"How very _generous _of you," Russia said, the sarcasm light and playful, but still present. "Glad to see you have not grown out of your silly grudge."

Shaking his head, America replied, "That's not what I was thinking at all!" he insisted. "I'll take the red, if you feel that way. I picked them 'cause the paper's white, so all together it'd be our colors. Ya' know, red, white, and blue."

"Mmhmm, sure." Nonetheless, he stood and leaned over far enough to kiss the shorter man on the forehead.

As he sat back down, America drew an 'X' in the center of the box. "Heroes first," was his only explanation. "And you'd better use an 'O,' not one of your weird Cyrillic letters."

"Whatever I choose to draw, the game does not change," Russia replied. "And for your information, there actually is an 'O' letter in Cyrillic; it is called an 'on.' "

Alfred waved his hand dismissively. "Fine, draw an 'on,' or whatever you want to call it."

Russia placed his O in the right-center box. "You are aware that as long as you pay attention, it is impossible to lose this game, da?"

"Says you." America drew an X in the upper-left corner.

An O in the bottom right corner blocked what would have been three in a row. Pursing his lips, Alfred drew yet another X, but in the end, just as Ivan had predicted, it was a tie.

"Fine, you go first next," America mumbled, and Russia drew the circular letter in the center. In response, an X was placed at the top right. Then an O at the bottom left. "What the hell did you do that for? I put an X there, you can't make a connection that way," the shorter of the two said, confused. He placed an X at the top center.

Russia smirked. "I win," he said, drawing an O in the top-left corner.

"No you don't! I can totally block tha-" Alfred began, cutting himself off when he took a closer look at the board. Ivan had two in a row in two directions, both down the left column and diagonally from the top-left. No matter where he drew his X, Russia could use the other one. "You suck," he muttered, scribbling over the game board with blue crayon.

"Ever the graceful loser, da?" Russia commented.

"Jerk," America grumbled. "If we weren't surrounded by families with kids, I'd say a lot of other things, too."

"I am sure you would," Ivan said teasingly. "Just like your potty-mouth brother."

It was clearly taking all of America's willpower not to cuss him out. "You… You…" he growled. "I'm nothing like Arthur, ya' got it? Not at all!"

"You share a language, do you not?"

"Ffffff-" Interrupting himself before he gave various children a shiny new vocabulary word, Alfred opted for kicking the Russian from under the table. "I'm beginning to think you enjoy tormenting me."

Ivan mock-gasped. "And it only took you, what? A little over two hundred years to figure that out? Impressive!" He didn't worry about what anyone else would think of the remark; no doubt they would assume he was being facetious.

Before America could respond, the waitress returned with a water and a chocolate Fribble. "Umm, your drinks," she said cautiously, noting the look of irritation on the shorter man's face. Upon seeing the icy drink, however, all the negative emotions seemed to melt away from the shorter country's face.

"Thank you!" Alfred chirped, taking the drink and slurping it up right away.

"Spaseebo," Ivan said gratefully. Once again, she gave him a confused look. "Thank you," he translated with a sigh. The waitress nodded slowly and left. "So, Alfred, has Matthew been doing well lately?" he asked, trying to start up a more pleasant conversation.

Unfortunately, he forgot one of the most important rules about dealing with America. Never try to talk to him when he had a drink in his hand. "Mattwho? I 'unno 'o ya' 'alking 'bout." Or food, for that matter.

"Matthew. You know, from Canada."

"Hm?"

"Your twin brother."

America managed to take the straw from his mouth just long enough to give an audible response. _"Oh, _you mean _that _Matthew! He's doing fine… I think. So hard to find him sometimes, and if I call him, he always speaks too quietly for me to hear." The straw went back in his mouth, and the younger country continued to spout more unintelligible sentences. All the while, Russia pretended to be listening intently, nodding when it seemed appropriate. Before they'd started dating, Ivan had spent much time wondering how Arthur had begun to understand his little brother's food-filled garble. It wasn't until a month in that England admitted to simply faking it.

_"He's very predictable once you get his mindset down, you see," _the Briton had explained. _"You can generally guess what he's been saying if he asks you what you think at the end."_

"So what do you think?" America asked excitedly once he was finished.

"I think it is a wonderful idea to genetically engineer food that raises itself," Russia said confidently.

"I know, right? Arthur told me it was stupid, but what does he know?" Alfred went on merrily, and Ivan wasn't sure if it was a good or bad thing that it had become so easy to figure that out.

The waitress set a pair of plates down in front of them. "Enjoy your meal," she said in a well-practiced, upbeat manner.

"Thank you!"

"Spaseebo!"

"No problem." She nodded politely and left.

America began eating almost immediately, his words only made harder to decipher… If such a thing was even possible. Russia continued to look genuinely interested in the younger's words, all the while munching away. Salad wasn't his favorite thing in the world, that was true; he would take borscht and some vodka over it any day. However, at the very least it spared him the fate of-

"Vanya, are you sure you don't want to try a bite?" Alfred asked.

Ivan swallowed. "D-da."

A sad look crossed the American's face. "Is… Is it really that bad?"

No. He wouldn't give in to that face. Many had fallen to it, but he was determined not to. It was why Japan attended Alfred's outrageous Christmas parties every year. It was why none of America's bosses had the will to discipline him with a stern talking-to. It was why he was in that ridiculous restaurant _in the first place._

"I… I suppose one bite couldn't hurt."

Damn it!

As usual, Alfred's mood proceeded to do a complete 180 degree change. "Really?"

"Da, really," Russia sighed as America pushed the plate over to his side of the table. He hesitantly picked it up, not at all worried about which places had been bitten; if he hadn't picked up anything from all the times they'd kissed, he wouldn't pick up anything secondhand. No, the only worry he had was about the burger itself, and that wouldn't change no matter where he bit it.

Well, it was then or never. Taking a deep breath, he opened his mouth and chomped down.

Only after a moment did he realize that he had closed his eyes. Opening them, he took note of several things. The first was that he was alive. Well, for the moment, anyway. The second was that his tongue was still present. It hadn't melted out of his mouth, not had his taste buds shriveled up and died. The third… Was that it really wasn't all that bad. Not as good as pirozhki, of course, but not as utterly horrible as he'd been lead to believe.

Well… That was pretty anticlimactic.

He placed the burger back down and slid it back over to America. "Well?" the shorter country asked, eyes sparkling expectantly.

"It…" Russia had several options, he realized. On one hand, he could protect his pride, lie, and say it had been horrible, hurting Alfred's feelings and getting into an argument that would most likely end with him being banished to the sofa that night. Okay, bad idea. Or, he could admit that he kind of liked it, stinging his pride and inflating the younger nation's ego to the point where America would rub it in his face for the next several weeks. Definitely not. "It was alright," he settled with. "Nothing special, but not as bad as I thought." That was honest enough, and America seemed pleased by the response. "You have to try borscht now, though."

"What are you talking about? I've had borscht plenty of times!" America replied, eyes widening.

A little surprised, Ivan asked, "When?"

"Does the term 'melting pot' ring any bells?" Alfred questioned in an indignant tone. "I eat all sorts of foods! Granted, that's mostly 'cause I don't really have any one culture to keep to, but…" He trailed off. The topic of his culture, or lack of thereof, was always a sensitive one for him.

"But you never let me make it!"

"I didn't say I _liked _it," America answered. "I mean, it's alright, but I like hamburgers better."

Russia couldn't help it at that point; he laughed. "Fair enough."

Several minutes of chatter passed. His salad finished for the most part, and America's burger almost gone, Alfred chose then to speak. "So… About that ice cream…"

Ivan snorted. "Are you even capable of thinking beyond your stomach?"

"Totally! I can sleep and talk, too!" America joked, in too good a mood to start an argument over nothing. "Now, are we gonna share, or do you want your own?"

"We should share… However," Russia added. "I want the cherry."

"You got it!" Alfred said happily, whipping out the dessert menu from behind the bottle of ketchup. "Mm, I dunno… They all look good… I've never seen you eat ice cream before, Vanya; what's your favorite?"

Russia rested his chin on his hand. "I rather like strawberry and vanilla…"

"Vanilla?" America repeated, mock-gagging. "I don't even know you anymore, man."

"Is there something wrong with vanilla?"

"Strawberry I can do. Vanilla, though…" Frowning, Alfred went on. "It's just kind of 'bleh.' "

"As usual, your vast vocabulary astounds me."

"You know," America said, eyes narrowing. "One day I'm gonna take some Russian classes, get super fluent, and then _you'll _be the one getting your vocabulary mocked by someone who didn't even grow up speaking the language."

"I very much doubt that," Russia said, still smiling.

"No, really." Taking some crayons, Alfred started to doodle.

"What are you drawing?"

"Cartoons."

"You are not drawing me again, right?"

"Depends. Did you bring a pickaxe?"

Russia paused. "I brought my pipe."

"Then your face will not appear on this paper in any way, shape, or form," America replied merrily, drawing sparkles around what was presumably a self-portrait.

Slipping the crayon from the younger nation's hand, Russia mused, "You really should act your age, Alfred."

"Act my age?" America repeated, smirking. "I can do that!" He clutched his heart dramatically. "Oh God, heart attack!" His hand moved to his head. "Brain aneurysm!" He held his arm out, quivering. "Arthritis!" Finally stopping, he smirked at the taller man. "Shall I continue?"

"No, you have made your point," Russia admitted. No matter how young they appeared, they had both lived several lifetimes. Very well. America won that one. "I suppose I am fond of your antics, anyway, however annoying they are at times."

The waitress returned. "Is everything going well?"

"Yeah, we're ready to order dessert!" Alfred chirped. "Right, Vanya?"

"I suppose."

"One Jim Dandy; we'll share," America said decidedly.

"Anything else?" she asked, more out of habit than out of a logical necessity.

"Nope! Unless you want something else," Alfred replied, turning his gaze to Ivan.

"Nyet," Russia replied simply.

"Right then," the waitress said, nodding and walking off.

Yawning, America continued doodling. "Hey, Vanya, I have a question."

"Da?"

"If you could wish for anything in the whole wide world, what would it be?"

Russia tilted his head to the side. "That seems a little random."

"Me, I'd wish the diet pills they sold on the commercials actually worked." He sighed. "I've tried, like, seven different programs."

Ivan couldn't help but laugh. He just couldn't find it in him to explain to America the difference between fat and muscle. "I like you just as you are, dorogoy! A little fat is cute, anyway." It was just too fun to tease him.

The response didn't seem to please the American. _"Cute? _That's even worse than ugly!"

Russia picked up the yellow crayon and started doodling on the sheet of paper, quickly forming a flower. "As for my wish, I'd wish for a warm place full of sunflowers."

America blinked. "Have you ever considered just coming to a sunflower field in America? There's one not too far from here."

"Da, but it makes me jealous," Russia replied, a frowned creasing his face. "You can grow all sorts of flowers."

"Build a greenhouse?"

"Too expensive."

"Not too expensive, if you know how to build one yourself."

Russia looked at America hopefully. "You know how to build a greenhouse?"

"Me? Nope," Alfred chirped. "But Iggy knows all about 'em."

"Ice cream," the waitress interrupted, setting it down between them and giving each of them a spoon. "Enjoy!"

"Thank you!" America said brightly, stuffing his face immediately. Russia just watched with interest as his lover vacuumed the dessert up. Three, two, one… "ARGH! Brain freeze!"

Rolling his eyes, Ivan took a spoonful of whipped cream, making sure to claim the cherry for himself. "You eat too fast, dorogoy."

"But it tastes so good!"

Russia scooped up some strawberry while America consumed the chocolate. "I've never gotten brain freeze, you know."

"Of course you haven't, you live in the icebox of the world."

"Are you even aware of how brain freezes work?" Russia inquired.

Alfred nodded. "The ice cream gets in your brain," he replied confidently. "And it doesn't go away until the ice cream melts."

Oh geez… "Nyet. When the ice cream comes into contact with the roof of your mouth, your brain registers the environment as very cold, and blood vessels in the brain swell in an effort to keep warm."

Slowly, America nodded. "Can you, uh… Repeat that?" he asked, taking another mouthful of chocolate ice cream.

Cutting off a piece of the banana sticking out of the dessert, Russia decided to put it in even simpler terms. "When it gets cold, your brain tries to keep warm and you get a headache." He hadn't even used big words! Did Alfred really lose track of what he was saying the moment he said 'blood vessels?'

"Oh."

It was only minutes before the ice cream was completely gone, the waitress returning with the bill. "I got it," America said, filling it out. "I dragged you here, after all."

Russia laughed. "It was not all that bad. I actually had fun," he admitted. "Perhaps next time we can go to… McDonald's, was it?"

America's eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Haha! Nyet."

"Aww…"

* * *

**A/N**

**Klei: Written because RussiAmerica needs more fluff. :3 ...Okay, I admit it, I just wanted America to sing the Friendly's song.  
**

**America: You're insane.**

**Russia: Da.**

**Klei: ANYWAY, shameless advertisement time!**

**England: Oh geez…**

**Klei: ONE! Do you like roleplay? Hetalia roleplay? I'm totally game, check out my FF forum. It's not very professionally set-up, but hey, it's a place to roleplay, right?**

**Russia: Are you aware of how uncomfortable it is to have people roleplay as yo-**

**Klei: That's all, folks! -screen closes in on everyone and everything goes dark-**

**England: This is terribly uncomfortable.**

**UPDATE**

**Yes, Friendly's is a real place. X3 It's a chain restaurant, but according to the website, just in the eastern US. So if you're outside the country or in the western US, you might not have seen it before. The song's incredibly catchy, and you can probably find it on Youtube or something, if you're curious. :3  
**


End file.
